


Bits and Pieces

by cygnaut



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Animals, Calm Down Erik, Canon Disabled Character, Charles' Terrible Fashion Sense, Deleted Scenes, Established Relationship, Kid Fic, M/M, MST3K - Freeform, Magical Pregnancy, Magneto's Terrible Fashion Sense, Old Married Couple, Protective Erik, Trans Female Character, dadneto, destruction of symbolic national monuments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnaut/pseuds/cygnaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of various fic snippets originally posted on tumblr.</p><p>9. Pregnancy is Magical 1 (magic!surprise!pregnancy, trans Charles)<br/>10. Pregnancy is Magical 2 (pregnancy is complicated)<br/>11. “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” (tumblr prompt meme)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cygnet Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Our-Girl-Friday and based on the premise that Erik would make a very good swan—elegant, easily angered, and over-protective of his family. Original post [here with adorable photos of baby cygnets riding on their parents' backs.](http://cygnaut.tumblr.com/post/47966186285/our-girl-friday-just-donated-to-my-team-in-the)

"Now, do you see these thinner, green stalks? Not the grass, but the water plants. These have very tasty tubers that are ready to be eaten in springtime after the third moon following the—"

"I don’t like tubers," Pietro says, interrupting Erik’s lecture.

"You’ll like these," Erik says, ruffling his feathers a little in annoyance.

Pietro starts to chirp in disagreement, but then Lorna swims a little too close and bumps hard into his tail, nearly climbing up on top of him in confusion. Pietro snaps at her and they both nearly upend in the shallow water. 

"No, biting," Erik says, bowing his head down and nudging them apart with his beak. "Lorna, watch where you’re swimming, and—wait, where’s Wanda?" He lifts his head back up without waiting for a response. He could hear her splashing around on his left a moment ago, but now that side of the little inlet is empty and quiet except for the lapping of waves on the shore. The water is choked with water grass and pussy willows here, creating a green curtain all around them that could easily conceal a small lost cygnet. Or any number of predators. What was he thinking taking them so close to the bank like this? He never should have brought them so far away from the nest in the first place. What if that boat of humans from this morning came back? How can he go back to Charles and tell him that he lost one of their babies? How can he lose another after Anya—

Erik starts to rise up out of the water in his panic, spreading his wings as he swings his neck back and forth frantically. “Wanda? Wanda?” He goes into a defensive stance, searching for something to attack, but then there’s a loud squawk from directly behind him. 

“Geez, Dad, I’m right here!”

Erik spins his neck around and there she is, perched on his back and teetering wildly as he rears up. He sinks back down in the water and folds his wings back so she’s surrounded in a white ring of feathers. “You scared me half to death, young lady!”

“Sorry, sorry, calm down,” Wanda says, rolling her eyes at his overprotectiveness. But she still coos as Erik starts preening her in relief. Lorna scrambles up his tail feathers to get nuzzled as well, while their brother struggles ineffectively against his flank.

“Dad! Dad! I can’t get up! Dad!” 

“Okay, okay, everyone on board,” Erik grumbles, helping Pietro up with a bump of his beak. “But I’m not a taxi, and you all still need to practice your diving.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pietro says, shaking out the water from his feathers and settling in at the prime spot right where Erik’s wings meet. “We’ll all eat lots of tubers later.” 

They’re almost too old to ride now, but, well, Erik might as well enjoy having them all safely in one place while he can. He pushes past some water lilies and takes them out into the deep water toward the center of the river.


	2. They Worship Blue Oysters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our-Girl-Friday requested the Final Sacrifice/X-Men crossover everyone has been waiting for.

"Do you think there’s beer on the sun?"

Charles pauses, waiting to see if the man’s question makes sense after letting it rumble around in his head for a moment. It does not. The man himself looks uncomfortable, shifting in his seat and fidgeting while Charles stares at him. The man adjusts the sleeves of his jean jacket and then runs a hand over the back of his head, smoothing down the ends of his mullet. 

"Um, no?" Charles says finally. "Of course not, the surface of the sun is over 5,000 degrees centigrade. Any liquid on its surface would be vaporized instantly. 

"It was more of a rhetorical question," the man says, eyes growing distant as he looks over Charles’ left shoulder with a vague expression that is probably the result of a life of hard Canadian living and alcoholism. 

Charles clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Mr—?”

"Rowsdower."

"Mr. Rosstower, I—"

"No,  _Rows_ dower.”

"My apologies. I believe you wanted to speak about your young… companion?" 

"Troy," he says, shifting again. Charles gets a distinct whiff of body odor, stale beer, and maple syrup from across his desk. 

"Yes, Troy," Charles says. "You were saying he possesses special gifts that might benefit from instruction at Xaviers?" 

"I don’t know that he’s gifted exactly, more like—annoying." 

"…annoying?" Charles says. The boy in question didn't seem particularly impressive to Charles when the pair arrived at the mansion this morning, but Charles has learned not to judge a book by its cover. Even if the cover is a scrawny, squeaky-voiced dweeb in a red sweater. 

Charles decides to begin again. “Mr. Rosebower—” 

“ _Rowsdower_. You know what, just call me Zap. Mr Rowsdower is my father and a no-good son-of-a-gun.”

"Zap," Charles repeats weakly. "I think you might have misunderstood the purpose of our academy here and the type of students we serve."

"What?" Zap, asks. "What’d’ya mean? Logan said we’d fit right in here"

"You know Logan?" Charles says, his confusion only increasing. 

"Sure! Served with him in the Canadian Heroes Corps in ‘Nam," Zap says, leaning back in his chair and smiling so broadly the ends of his mustache lift several inches. "Good man, Logan. Real hairy too." 

"Yes, he—certainly is hairy. Well, in that case, I suppose it can’t hurt to give Troy a short trial to see how he fits in and what his gifts might be when they manifest." Charles rolls back from his desk.

"Thanks, Prof, I’d appreciate that. You’re a real good man for a southerner."

"I’m not actually—you’re welcome," Charles says, deciding not to bother.

__

Charles regretted his decision a week later when the entire Xavier student body came down with [hockey hair](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vg3FcFRgzbM). Well, he didn’t regret it  _too_  much, since that week was the thickest and most luxurious his hair has been in years, even if it was a mullet. 


	3. Cygnet Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All I want from Avengers 2 is Pietro and Wanda feeling really awkward about their secret parentage. (Yes, I know it's not comics canon. Work with me here).

Wanda starts awake at the sound of her ringtone and scrambles for her phone. Her blood is singing, ready to face whatever threat is coming down on New York City. Aliens, robots, zombies, alien on flying jet skis. Bring it on. She’s ready. This is what she signed up for—

Ready, that is, until she sees the number calling her is unlisted and anonymous. She strongly considers rolling over and going back to sleep. She almost does, but there’s a very small possibility that this is actually an unavoidable emergency call.

She answers with a sigh. “Dad, we’ve talked about this—”

"Did you hear about the idiotic speech Senator Kelly gave today?" he asks, already wound up and ranting.

So… not an unavoidable emergency then. “Dad.”

"I can’t believe he’s still pushing this school safety thing. It’s disgusting, targeting mutant children—”

"Yes, I saw. It’s terrible. But you really, really can’t call me anymore. Remember? Pietro and I are with the _Avengers_ now. As in SHIELD, as in _you’re a wanted terrorist_.”

"I know, Wanda, I know. I just—he compared mutant kids to someone bringing a loaded gun to school.”

She runs a hand through her hair, tangled from sleep. “Do you realize how awkward this is for me? Tomorrow morning Captain America is going to look up from his cornflakes and ask me why I seem so tired. And I’m going to have to lie to him about getting a midnight phone call from my mutant terrorist father. Again.”

“ _I’ll_ show him a loaded gun. I can’t wait until Mystique brings him in, that bigot won’t know—”

“Dammit, Dad! That is exactly what I am talking about! You can’t tell me things like that when I’m living in Stark Tower!”

"Well, maybe if your little superhero club did a better job of protecting mutants I wouldn’t have so many reasons to wake you up in the middle of the night. That reminds me, is Pietro there? That stunt he pulled on the Brooklyn Bridge the other day was incredibly stupid and dangerous."

"No, Dad. I’m not waking up Pietro at 3 in the morning."

"Then you better tell him not to do anything like that again or I swear I’ll come up there myself and—"

"Dad! Don’t even joke—we’d have to arrest you!"

"You know," he says, his voice taking on that sarcastic tone that bodes of unearned guilt trips. "Maybe if you called your father more than once a year he wouldn’t need to telephone so much at such an hour."

Wanda takes a deep breath, pulling at her hair again. “I can’t even argue with you about this. It’s 3 am. Goodnight, Dad.”

"Fine, don’t forget to—" She hangs up before he can remind her to chastise Pietro for him.


	4. All Good Mutants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old mutants watching the Oscars written for pockey_slash.

"I don’t know why you waste your time watching these stupid  _human_  awards.” Erik said, settling down on the couch next to Charles. He intended to watch alongside him in order to express the full measure of his distaste. There were many other rooms in the mansion with televisions he could be watching—or, heavens, even booksto read—but those rooms didn’t have Charles in them.

"Shhh," Charles hissed, not turning away from the screen. "It’s fun, and I want to see if Alison Blaire wins."

"She’s not going to win _._ It’s an incredible long shot, and anyway, who cares about the best song category? No one, that’s who.”

"It’s just nice that she’s nominated and gets to go," Charles said, adjusting the blanket across his lap. "Oh my, look at that dress!"

"Ugh, what is that color? She looks like the statue of liberty on a bender. Why are we even watching the red carpet nonsense?"

"Because it’s the best part," Charles said. "Would you be a dear and go make me some popcorn?"

Erik sighed. Normally this was the point where he would protest that Charles is not an invalid and can go get his own damn popcorn, but he  _does_  look very comfortable nestled on the couch. Erik sighed again and got up, making sure Charles knew what a generous and selfless husband he had. Erik’s knees cracked as stood, adding to the general air of noble self-sacrifice.

By the time Erik got back, the ceremony had started. The human host whose name Erik refused to recall was up on stage making a series of weak topical jokes.

"I can’t believe the first mutant nomination is for a  _disco singer_ ,” Erik grumbled, passing the bowl of popcorn to Charles before gingerly sitting down.

"She’s not a disco singer anymore," Charles said, turning to glare at Erik as he took a handful of popcorn. " _I_  like her and I think it’s great that she’s had a comeback.”

"I just want our community to have someone of substance as our de facto spokesperson. Why must all the famous mutants be such vapid celebrities?"

"Because they’re celebrities?" Charles suggested, the corners of his mouth turning up with amusement. "And anyway, Dazzler’s not vapid. She’s spoken up for mutant rights many times!"

Erik made a dismissive noise. “I suppose, but we could do better.”

Charles gave him the sideways look that indicated he was about to tell what he thought was a very amusing joke. “I look forward to the day you take the US public by storm with your lecture series listing all the things that irritate you.”

"It would be a very long lecture," Erik said, refusing to smile. He took a handful of popcorn for himself.

"Naturally."

They both quieted down as the awards start being dispensed. There was too much vapid rambling and fake tears for Erik’s taste, as well as way too many montages. The one about all the people who had died in the past year just made Erik feel incredibly old and decrepit. He could do with rather fewer reminders of his own mortality in an award show.

In the end, Alison Blaire  _does_  win Best Original Song. It irritated Erik somewhat that the first mutant Oscar winner was a disco singer—she’d be immortalized in montages for all time now—but at least Charles would be pleased. Blaire herself was wearing a very lovely blue gown with diamond accents, and she ended her soggy acceptance speech with a colorful blast of light from the tips of her fingers.

"Wake up," Erik said, nudging Charles. Charles twitched and shifted, lifting his head slightly from where it was resting on Erik’s shoulder. 

"Hm?"

"Dazzler won. Can we go to bed now?"

"Oh! Why didn’t you wake me up?"

"I tried! You were out solid. Come on, it’s time for all good mutants to go to bed. We can read about the other winners in the paper tomorrow."

"Time for all old mutants, anyway,” Charles said, reaching for his chair.


	5. Stretch Marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An mpreg snippet set in Unforgotten’s Father of the Bride AU during [We Got a Surprise Package](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1002075).

Erik is examining his belly in the bathroom when Charles gets home. “I have a new stretch mark,” he announces, shouting when he hears Charles moving around in the bedroom.

"That’s nice," Charles shouts back.

"Nice?" Erik repeats. He wheels around and stomps into the other room—well, it’s more of a waddle since all he can do is waddles these days. " _Nice?_  It’s not nice, it’s awful! Look at what you’ve done to my body!” Erik waves his hands, indicating his bare chest and distended stomach. 

Charles smiles and leans forward, kissing Erik’s belly button, which recently became an outie after years of comfortable innie-ness. “Hello, there. How are you today, baby?” he asks, his voice jumping up an octave. 

"Terrible," Erik replies, even though he know he’s not the baby in question. He points at the new stretch mark on the side of his stomach. "Look at that. I’m going to look like a stripped tiger by the time this kid is born." 

"They’ll fade, just like the last ones."

"The last ones weren’t this bad," Erik says gloomily. "I was younger then, my body could handle more. I’m old now. I’ll probably have these for the rest of my short, infirm life." He starts digging in the laundry basket looking for something to put on. He’s been reduced to wearing oversized nightshirts now that are one step away from a muumuu. 

"I like your old body," Charles says unhelpfully. "It matches mine."

"Ha ha," Erik says, finally finding a relatively clean shirt. It’s an awful one his mother got him that says,  _Books, Cats. Life is good._  “I can’t wait until I give birth so you can carry him around all day instead of me.” 

Charles grins broadly and follows Erik out into the kitchen. “Me either. Did you see your mother dropped off a Hebrew baby name book?”

Erik sighs. “Yes, I also saw all the helpful post-it notes she added to mark the names she likes.”

"I told her we were thinking about Abner or Ebenezer for a boy, and Ismaela or Zipporah for a girl." 

"Ugh, thank you for that. Now she’s going to spend weeks arguing with me about names I don’t even want to use." 

The book is actually pretty useful, as it reminds Erik how much he likes the name David. Charles, of course, is still playing the long game on names, and keeps pushing for something ridiculous like Bartholomew. Erik can’t figure out if he’s using reverse psychology to make Erik stick to his guns about David, or if it’s all a ploy and they’re actually having a girl. His mother, meanwhile, calls him twice a day to talk up the merits of Ester. Erik actually quite likes it as a name, but there’s no way he’s going with that now. Ruth or bust.  

In the end, of course, it’s not a girl after all, and David carries the day. Erik’s stretch marks are there to stay, although they do fade a bit as time passes. Erik grows more accepting of them eventually. It helps that years later Charles still makes a point of kissing them when they’re in bed together. 


	6. Symbolism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overprotective!Erik destroys the Washington Monument... for love. Prompt fic for Red.

It took Hank longer than it probably should have to find space to land the Blackbird next to the National Mall. He would have landed on the Mall itself, but there was some kind of festival going on and most of the grassy area was taken up by a series of huge white tents. After circling several times and deciding a water landing on the Reflecting Pool would not be prudent, he put it down in a large empty meadow/swamp west of the Tidal Basin. They climbed out near the Jefferson Memorial, which as it turns out is deceptively far away from the Washington Monument itself. By the time Hank, Alex, and Sean had jogged all the way over, Erik was already well on his way to dismantling the Monument.

Sean attempted to strafe him from the air a few times without much effect while Alex aimed several ill-timed energy blasts which all managed to miss Erik. 

"What the hell, Magneto?" Hank shouted, picking up a rock and throwing it. Hank's aim had improved considerably since his days as a basement-dwelling scientist in the CIA and the rock connected with a satisfying "ping" as it bounced off of Erik's helmet. 

Erik looked down and with a flourish of his arms lowered himself so he was floating only a few dozen feet over Hank's head. "Beast," he said amiably. He raised one arm and tore another section of the interior metal skeleton of the national obelisk loose. Huge bricks of marble rained down on the sidewalk below, crunching loudly as they hit the ground. 

"Why are you even doing this?" Hank shouted.

"It's symbolic," Erik said. "I'm destroying the corrupt human spirit of the United States."

"Uh huh," Hank said. 

"Where's Charles?" Erik asked. "I'm surprised he didn't come to talk me out of it himself."

"Uh..." Hank looked back over his shoulder toward where the Blackbird was parked. "He's here."

"Then why doesn't he show himself?" Erik tore another chunk off the Monument. By this point he had destroyed roughly one-third of the top of the obelisk. It was not unlike watching a child destroying a gigantic tower made out of white legos. 

 _Oh, I'm watching, Erik, don't worry,_  Charles said, broadcasting from his position in the Blackbird.

Erik swiveled his head, searching the ground for him. "Come out here and fight me yourself, Charles!"  

 _I would be, but as it turns out the memorials aren't especially accessible_.  _But don't worry, I can still see_ ** _everything_**. Charles' mental voice grew increasingly sarcastic on the last word. 

"What?" Erik said, pausing with one arm up as he twisted one of the metal girders high above. "What do you mean it's not accessible? This is a national park!"

_That may be, but they're not doing a very good job keeping up the sidewalk over by the Tidal Basin. I got stuck at a curb at Independence Avenue and had to go back._

"Ridiculous!" Erik roared. He waved his other arm and the entire Monument rumbled ominously. "The park service should be ashamed!" 

Hank took a step back as some more of the marble blocks landed in front of him. The Monument was starting to look less and less structurally stable. It seemed to be expanding, as if the insides were swelling up and threatening to burst open. 

"Um, Charles," Hank said. "I don't think this actually helping—oh no."

Erik was starting to rise up into the air again and Hank decided to beat a hasty retreat. He took off running toward the distant Capital building on the other side of the Mall and didn't look back until the ground shook with a massive boom like nearby thunder. When Hank looked back over his shoulder the entire Monument had split open like an overripe banana.

Hank sighed. 

 _Oops,_ Charles said. 

"Yes, oops." 

_Well, that's going to be a—wait. Hold on a second, Erik just took off his helmet—_

"What?" Hank asked, startled. He definitely wasn't expecting that. 

Charles didn't respond for several minutes, so Hank decided to round up Alex and Sean and get back to the Blackbird. Quite a few sirens were starting to converging on the Mall and it was only a matter of time before one of the five different police forces who had jurisdiction nearby decided to storm it. 

By the time they made it back to the Blackbird, Charles was already starting the preflight. Dirt was flying through the air and the engines roared to life as Hank and the others rushed on board. 

"Raise the doors," Hank said, running toward the cockpit and nearly running smack into Erik. 

"Whoa, Magneto!" Sean said helpfully. Both he and Alex took up defensive postures, but it was immediately evident to Hank that they weren't in any danger. Erik wasn't wearing his helmet and he was kneeling next to Charles who had an expression that was part annoyance, part relief. 

"Um?" Hank asked. 

"Yes, I know," Charles snapped. "Just take off."

Hank exchanged a look with Alex and Sean and they all collectively shrugged. All right then. 

As Hank finished the preflight check and started to lift off, he could hear Charles and Erik behind him talking. 

"I was symbolically destroying our love," Erik said.

"Uh huh, I got that," Charles replied.  

"But then instead I decided to symbolically destroy this ablest corrupt society."

Hank could imagine Charles touching his hand to his face as he answered. "Okay, I appreciate the symbolism, but next time let's try a letter writing campaign first." 

Erik made a noncommittal noise. 


	7. The Importance of Being Highly Competitive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snippet written for theletteraesc who donated to my [Abortion Access Bowl-a-Thon team](http://cygnaut.tumblr.com/post/111665077881/once-again-i-am-helping-raise-money-for-abortion). She requested:
>
>> I would love love love something like Dadneto is a super-intense parent who gets really into their kid’s activities, like he stalks the sidelines at Pietro’s soccer game and growls at the refs or mutters angrily if he thinks the judges totally screwed Lorna out of higher scores in her bar routine (or whatever), and then he meets Charles at one of these events and Charles is laid back and seems completely unaware that kids’ activities are VERY SERIOUS BUSINESS, and this annoys Erik and fascinates him at the same time.

It took Erik nearly five months to find an acceptable peewee soccer league for Wanda and Pietro. His first stumbling block was finding something coed because there was no way in hell he was dragging his kids back and forth between  _two different_  amateur soccer leagues.

The next problem was finding one that was mutant friendly. Erik's first attempt on that front turned out to be a group that banned the use of  _all_  powers in an effort to make play "fair." Erik thought this was a horrible message to send to children, whether mutant or human. Would they weigh down the legs of the human kids who were humanly fast as opposed to inhumanly? He thought not. Erik was trying to raise his children to value their gifts and use them to the highest level of their abilities; he didn't need some peewee sporting association undermining his parenting. This wasn't even club soccer either—it was just a rec league!

Erik finally finds an acceptable league after a lot of internet research and time spent talking to the other parents at Wanda and Pietro's afterschool mutant program. The new league is mutant-focused (although it does allow human children in much to Erik's annoyance) and the use of powers is considered an integral part of play. Pietro is naturally a star with his super speed, but thankfully he's also forced to learn teamwork due to the mandatory passing rule.

The coach is a little touchy-feely for Erik's taste—he's a mutant skills teacher by day and it shows. Most of Coach Xavier's lessons are about learning to better control one's powers as opposed to the ball. But his coaching does seem to do Wanda some good, as she gets less nervous about hexing the opposing players after a few games. Erik would prefer that Wanda and Pietro learned more about the strategy of the game, but it is only the 10-to-11-year-old league.

Erik tends to get very involved in the games. He's not like  _some_  parents who show up at a game and spend more time looking at their phones than at their own children. He understandably wants his kids to do their best and to know that he cares about their performance. He might get a touch overexcited at times, but that's only because he loves his children a lot. And because the refs the league uses are apparently blind men who couldn't recognize an offside violation if Erik drew them a picture in crayon.

" _OFFSIDES!_ " Erik says, throwing his hands in the air. "She was offsides!"

"How can you tell?" Raven asks, taking a swig from her water bottle. Erik strongly suspects that the clear liquid inside is not water. "I can't even see that red girl on the field. She's even faster than your kid."

"I can tell," Erik says, and grinds his teeth in annoyance as the ref continues to ignore his frantic hand waving.  

"Is it considered offsides if you teleported ahead of play?" Raven wonders, which is something she should already know considering Kurt's abilities.

"Yes," Erik snaps. "It's in the rulebook."

"You've read the rulebook?"

"Obviously." At that moment Coach Xavier signals for a timeout, causing the children to pause their play in confusion and start wandering back to the bench. "Why is he calling a time out  _now?_ "

"Probably because the kids are tired?" Raven takes a juice pouch out of the cooler next to her and gets up to give it to Kurt.  

Erik picks up the cooler and follows after her. He hands out juice pouches while Coach Xavier gives an impromptu speech about sportsmanship, which seems completely out of place to Erik. Save the sportsmanship talk until  _after_  the game, during it should be nothing but rousing pep talks and shouts of "kill 'em all!"

The timeout clock runs down and the ref whistles for play to resume. Erik sets down the cooler as the kids run out on the field and goes to stand next to Coach Xavier. He'd like to give the man a piece of his mind about the importance of fostering competitiveness for optimal child rearing.    

The ball bounces out-of-bounds after Erik comes up to him and Coach Xavier smiles at Erik during the pause in play. "Hello, Erik. Pietro is doing very well today."

"He usually does," Erik says. Coach Xavier's smile brightens and Erik momentarily forgets about the extremely important thing he had to say to him. "Wanda too."

"Yes, she's really started to come out of her shell!" Coach Xavier says. "She and Jean have been getting along well. You should consider having her over."

Erik has also noticed this, but Jean's parents are human so he's been reluctant to say anything to them. Still, he should make the effort. Wanda has too few friends her own age.

Thinking about Wanda reminds Erik why he came over in the first place, and he opens his mouth to begin a rant. But before he can get started, a small child with alarmingly tall hair wanders out of the crowd to hug Coach Xavier's knee.

Coach Xavier pats the boy on the head and gives him an indulgent smile. "Have you met my son, David?" David looks up at Erik and narrows his eyes, glaring like he senses Erik's ill intent toward his father.

"Uh, no," Erik says. He didn't even realize Coach Xavier had children of his own.

"Say hello, David," Charles says, looking down at his son with a deeply fond expression. David responds by narrowing his eyes further and intensifying his glare. Charles nudges him slightly. "Use your outside voice, David."

David blinks and the intense look drops from his face. After a dazed second he focuses back on Erik and says softly, "hallo."

Charles beams like his son had spontaneously recited an Elizabethan sonnet.

"Hello, David," Erik says. "It's nice to meet you. Your father is a good coach but he could stand to learn a thing or two about the game."

Coach Xavier snorts softly and runs his hand through his son's hair, attempting to flatten it. David's hair springs up again immediately. "Mr. Lehnsherr is a nice man but he could use a lesson or two in civility."

"Maybe you could give me one," Erik says, his mouth twitching.

Coach Xavier startles slightly at that and looks at Erik with renewed interest. "Oh?—yes, maybe I could…" His smile turns decidedly sly and Erik smirks in response.

Maybe Erik's been unfair in judging this league so harshly. It is just a game after all. 


	8. A Dollar Goes a Long Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small scene cut from [Adventures in Babysitting.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1431598/chapters/3010087)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snippet for fourteenacross who donated to my [Abortion Access Bowl-a-Thon team](http://cygnaut.tumblr.com/post/111665077881/once-again-i-am-helping-raise-money-for-abortion)!

The second day of driving is less tense, mainly because they're all too bored to be especially anxious.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Ororo says, whining from the backseat.

"You went to the bathroom less than an hour ago," Erik points out.

"Well, I have to go again!" she says.

"Fine," he says, hitting the brakes and slowing down as he coasts onto the shoulder.

"Noooo, I don't want to go in the woods," Ororo says, pouting. "Can't we stop somewhere?"

"I need to go too," Jean says. "And we don't have anything left for lunch but canned peas."

Erik sighs. "All right, all right. There should be a town up ahead. I'll see if there's somewhere to stop."  

After several minutes of driving, they pull into a dusty-looking gas station with a single old-fashioned pump. Jean and Scott pile out and head immediately to the small store, which has faded signs advertising Coco-Cola and pre-packaged ice cream cones.

Ororo pulls herself up to look at Erik, standing up so she can see him over the passenger seat. "Can I get a candy bar?"

Erik shrugs. "I don't care, get whatever you want."

He immediately knows that he's done something wrong as her eyes light up with the delight of a forbidden pleasure rarely granted. She sticks her hand out, thrusting it under his nose expectantly.

Erik looks down at her hand in confusion for a moment before he remembers that six-year-olds don't normally carry much cash. He pulls out his wallet and hands her a dollar.

"Bring me the change—"

"Okay, sure!" she says, diving out of the car without a second glance.

"Watch for cars!" he says, yelling futilely out of the window as she darts across the parking lot toward the store, the dollar bill clutched in her hand like a flag.

Jean crosses her path on the way back to the car, looking quizzically over her shoulder as Ororo runs inside the shop. "Is she going to the bathroom?" she asks, opening the passenger door.

"Candy," Erik says.

"What?" Jean's startled look confirms Erik's suspicions that he did something wrong. "You let her go alone? She'll buy like ten ding-dongs and make herself sick!" Jean slams the car door without waiting for an answer and goes running across the blacktop after Ororo.

"Watch for cars!" 

Scott is coming out of the store when Jean runs past him and he looks after her in confusion, two bottles of Coke in his hands. He calls something after her and then shrugs, walking across the lot and back to the car.

"Hey," Scott says as he climbs into the passenger seat. He hands Erik one of the open bottles.

"Thanks." Erik isn't normally one for soda, but the sweet liquid is perfect for the end of a hot day. They both sit and sip in silence while they wait.

Jean emerges from the store again shortly, clutching Ororo's hand as she marches her back to the car. Jean was evidently too late, as Ororo has an armful of cellophane packages and her face is already smeared with chocolate. They both climb into the back, Jean looking annoyed while Ororo stacks her haul of Little Debbie's on the seat next to her. She stands up and leans over the seat again, holding out her hand to Erik. "Here's the change."

Erik takes it, counting out a nickel and two pennies. "...thanks. Uh, don't get any chocolate on the seats, okay?"

"Okay!"


	9. Pregnancy is Magical (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte threw her hands in the air and let out a frustrated noise. "Oh my god, shut up and listen to me— _I'm pregnant!_ " Her voice reached a tone that was surprisingly shrill for Charlotte.
> 
> "But—" Erik stopped. "But you can't—you don't—"
> 
> "Have a womb?" Charlotte suggested, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, apparently, sometimes that's not necessary. At least for mutants. I also don't have any sensation below the waist in case you've forgotten but that doesn't seem to have been a problem."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to everyone, and you should know going into this that I am [bad at finishing surprise!magic!pregnancy fic.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/648028/chapters/1178260)

"I'm pregnant," Charlotte said.

"I don't think this is a very appropriate time for jokes," Erik said, sweeping his cape over his arm. "Don't derail me, you're only angry because I refuse to be beholden to an oppressive human legal regime, unlike your appeasing little 'school' project, which is nothing but a target next time the humans decide to—"

"No," Charlotte said, hitting one hand on the arm of her chair for emphasis. "I'm not joking—and wanting you not to  _maim innocent civilians_  does not mean I'm beholden to an oppressive regime."

Erik snorted. "Human laws cannot apply to mutants as long as humanity treats us as second-class citizens and refuses to acknowledge our inherent superiority."

Charlotte threw her hands in the air and let out a frustrated noise. "Oh my god, shut up and listen to me— _I'm pregnant!_ " Her voice reached a tone that was surprisingly shrill for Charlotte.

"But—" Erik stopped. "But you can't—you don't—"

"Have a womb?" Charlotte suggested, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, apparently, sometimes that's not necessary. At least for mutants. I also don't have any sensation below the waist in case you've forgotten but that doesn't seem to have been a problem."

"But… I thought? Did Hank?"

Charlotte sighed and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "No, Hank didn't anything. Or nothing beyond the usual. I haven't had any new surgeries or wonder drugs or whatever ridiculous thing you're thinking of. It is all completely natural and completely… inconvenient."

"You're pregnant?" Erik repeated. "You're—you're carrying a child?"

"Yes, that is what I am telling you. I am expecting, I'm knocked up,  _there is a bun in the oven_."

Erik squinted. He was still not sure this wasn't some elaborate practical joke or perhaps a ruse to trick him into quitting the revolution. "So… you're saying… I'm…?"

"Yes!" Charlotte waved her hand so wildly she almost hit Erik in the nethers. He took a defensive step back. "You fucking impregnated me, you ass!"

"So, where. I mean, anatomically speaking?"

Charlotte sighed again. "The fetus has formed inside a sort of—a sac. Where the placenta implanted. Off my lower intestines."

"Oh." Erik decided not to contemplate the placement of his baby inside of his lover's colon. "Oh, but that's…"

"Horrible?" Charlotte suggested at the same instant Erik finished saying, "wonderful."

They stared at one another. "You can't be serious," Charlotte said, breaking the silence. "You hate me. We can't have a baby."

"I don't hate you! I hate what you  _stand_  for—"

Charlotte sighed.

"—and…we're having a baby." Erik reached out blindly with his powers and pulled over the closest armchair to sit down. "We're having a baby," he repeated, softer this time.

Charlotte started shaking her head. "No, I can't—we can't have a baby, Erik."

"But this is, it's—" Erik searched desperately for a word that wasn't 'miracle' before landing on, "uncanny!"

"It's certainly  _something_ ," Charlotte said, looking up toward the ceiling. "I haven't even decided what I'm going to do yet, Erik."  

Erik blinked, not understanding what she meant at first. "Oh, right. I mean, obviously I don't. You don't have to. I don't really have any right to. It's your decision."

Charlotte sighed. "I do want kids, you know that. But it's not the right time. I'm so busy with starting the school and it's hard enough convincing people I'm capable of running this place without being a mother on top of everything else."

Erik looked away. "You've never cared what people thought before." Least of all him.

Charlotte leans back in her chair. "No, but now, unfortunately, I have to convince parents to send me their children and a whole outside state board that I'm competent enough to be certified and—it's just a bad time."

"Right."

"But I'm still… I'm not opposed. That's why I'm telling you this. I needed to know what you thought. What you'd do if I… went ahead with it."

"I want to be in my child's life," Erik said. "If there's going to be one, I mean."

"While also leading the life of a wanted terrorist?"

Erik clenched his jaw. "What, you're allowed to have doubts, but I'm not? I don't want to give up the life I've chosen any more than you do."

Charlotte inhaled slowly. "Children require sacrifices. It's a huge responsibility."

"I know that," Erik said, looking straight at her and meeting her eyes. To her credit she only nodded in response.

"Okay, let's not make any decisions now,” Charlotte said. “Not while we're angry and still reeling. I need some time to think."

Erik nodded and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He couldn't help a smile from growing across his face. A baby. They're having a baby.

Charlotte sighed again. "You know I can hear you when you're not wearing the helmet, right?" 

___

Erik decided to stay. At least for the time being. It would give them time to talk more and negotiate how coparenting a baby would work—assuming they had a baby.

Erik had to keep reminding himself not to assume, but it was hard not to be a _little_ excited. Wanting children wasn't something he had thought about in great detail, or had any expectation of happening, but now that it was he could admit to himself that the idea made him happy. It was going to be hard, but he wanted to find a way to make it work. That was why he was going to stay. He had to at least give this a chance.

Besides, Charlotte clearly could use the extra help around the house given the current progress of her pregnancy. 

"Oh, god," Charlotte said, her voice somewhat muffled by her position doubled up over the toilet bowl. "I swear I never wanted this. I wanted kids, yes, but I wanted  _to adopt._ I never wanted to be pregnant. This is such bullshit."

Erik made a soft clucking sound and patted her back as he knelt down next to the toilet. "The sickness should pass after the first trimester."

"This isn't a—" she broke off to cough and retch one more time before finishing, "—regular pregnancy in case you've forgotten. For all you know I'm going to be barfing continuously for the next seven months."

"Let me make you a cold compress," Erik said, getting up to get a washcloth out of the linen closet. "That will make you feel better."

Charlotte ignored him. "I'm being punished," she mumbled. "It's the only explanation. 'Be careful what you wish for.' God is punishing me for wanting to be born with the correct bits between my legs."

"Don't be silly," Erik said, trying to sound reassuring as he turned on the tap. "God is dead."

"Shut up, Erik," Charlotte snapped and then retched again, dry heaving repeatedly. Erik tried to press the wet washcloth to the back of her neck, but Charlotte pushed him away with a shrug of her shoulder.

"Have you tried ginger tea?" Erik asked. "That's very soothing. Why don't I go make you some?"

Charlotte raised one hand to her forehead, resting her elbow on the toilet bowl and pushing her bangs back from her face. "Feel free to go away and return to your revolution any time now, Erik."

Erik smiled and went to make the tea. He knew she didn't really mean that.

"I fucking do mean it!" Charlotte yelled after him. "I completely and totally—" she was forced to break off as she started gagging again.  

Erik took the elevator downstairs, humming to himself as he walked down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle was in the same place he remembered on the back burner of the stove, and he continued humming as he filled it with water. He wasn't normally one to sing, but he found himself continuing under his breath as he waited for the water to boil. "You'll see a smiling face, a fireplace, mmm, a cozy room…"

Charlotte's collection of loose-leaf tea was no longer in the cabinet over the stove, but after some searching Erik found it in one of the drawers next to the sink. "A little nest that's nestled where the roses bloom. Just Charlotte and me, and baby—"

 _Shut up,_  Charlotte said, projecting to him forcefully through several layers of brick and plumbing.

Erik stopped singing. "Milk?" he asked, trusting that Charlotte was still listening.

 _No, no dairy, just a slice lemon,_  came the reply.  _And I can still hear you singing._

"It's stuck in my head," Erik said. "I can't do anything about that, can I?" There was silence in response, but Erik could sense Charlotte seething at him. "If you don't like it, you don't have to listen!" 

 

 


	10. Pregnancy is Magical (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pregnancy is complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Runi and Red for assisting with the medical details and helping me strive for complete scientific accuracy in my magical!pregnancy fic.

"So, how is this going to work?" Erik asked.

"I thought I'd take the elevator since I'm not so good with stairs these days," Charlotte said.

"No, I mean," Erik waved a hand in the air, trying to indicate what he meant without being too obscene. "The birth."

Charlotte came to a halt and gave him an odd look. "You know how babies are born, don't you?"

"So you're just going to… poop it out?"

Charlotte's squint turned into a deeply withering glare. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Yes, I am going to push this baby out through my pelvis and the tiny hole that is my persistent cloaca, which I did not realize I had until very recently."

"Persistent—?"

"It means I've got a sort of… off ramp," Charlotte said. "A detour, if you will, inside my anus that leads to my uterus. I probably would have found out about it if I'd gone ahead with the downstairs reassignment surgery," she waved toward her lap and shrugged. "But I didn't, and I had the misfortune to meet you and have a lot of ill-advised, unprotected sex, so. Here we are."

Now it was Erik's turn to squint. "You have a uterus?"

"Well, it's not quite the same, but it's uterus-like. Hank has a term—proto-uterus, but he just made that up and I don't like it. It implies that it's less-developed or somehow ancestral, which is ridiculous. It's a perfectly functional fetus-gestation organ. There's only a few anatomical differences that are probably accounted for by the—"

"So, the baby is in your proto-uterus?" Erik said, still trying to make sense of how this was going to work.

"Yes?" Charlotte said.

"I thought you said it was in your intestines?"

Charlotte wrinkled her nose. "I said it was in a sac _off_ of my intestines, not _in_ them! God, that's actually really dangerous you know?"

"Oh.”

Erik spent most of the rest of the day contemplating this. He had more questions, of course, but Charlotte didn’t seem to be in the mood to entertain them currently. Erik waited until the evening when they were both relaxing in Charlotte’s study with a book in one hand and a drink in the other--scotch for Erik and tea with honey for Charlotte.

Erik waited until Charlotte was fully engaged in her novel. He thought it would be safer broach the topic again when she was distracted, figuring she was less likely to get mad at him if she wasn’t fully listening to what he was saying. “So, you have a uterus.”

"A uterus-like organ,” Charlotte corrected. She licked one thumb and used it to turn the page of her book.

"Right,” Erik said, nodding. “So does that make you a hermaphrodite?”

Charlotte looked up at that. “I’m a woman,” she said, speaking slowly in a tone that could have frozen molten lava.

"I know,” Erik said quickly. “I mean, biolog--medically speaking.”

Charlotte closed her book, using one finger to keep her place, and sighed. “It may mean I’m XX-XY chimaeric, but that’s all hypothetical speculation until Hank and I run some more tests. But it doesn’t matter what my genes are or how my reproductive system is arranged. None of that’s not going to change how I identify personally.”

"Right, it’s just interesting,” Erik said. “And you think this is linked to the X-gene?”

Charles shrugged. “It seems likely, but I’m not completely sure yet.”

"So other mutants could have the same mutation?”

"Mhmm, it’s possible,” Charlotte said, returning to her book.

"Huh, that’s--it’s interesting,” Erik said. “Neat.”

“You’re welcome to carry the next one,” Charlotte replied and Erik smiled. The next one!


	11. “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a tumblr prompt meme: [prompt by turtletotem: Cherik, #35, “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”](http://cygnaut.tumblr.com/post/142209062161/cherik-35)

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

Charles looked down at his shirt in confusion. “What? This?”

“Yes, that,” Erik said. His lip curled with disgusted as Charles plucked at the offending fabric. It was an old shirt and a bit ratty, admittedly, but it was also comfortably worn in. Anyway, Charles only wore it around the house when no one but Hank was around to see him. He hadn’t been expecting Erik to appear for one of his periodic “visits.”

“What’s wrong with this shirt?” Charles asked. “Paisley is still in, isn’t it?”

“Paisley hasn’t been fashionable since I shot Nixon,” Erik said. “And even if it was, that wouldn’t excuse that orange monstrosity.”

“It’s not orange,” Charles said. Or at least it hadn’t been orange originally. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought the shirt had been more of a green and purple print when he bought it. “And you didn’t actually shoot Nixon.”

“The important thing is that I tried.” Erik said, turning away from Charles and brushing past.

Charles swiveled in his chair and followed after him. “Hey, you can’t just—Erik!”

Erik stopped by semi-regularly, granted, but that didn’t mean he had the right to open Charles’ walk-in closet and start rooting through his clothing.

By the time Charles wheeled himself over, Erik was moving methodically down the line of Charles’ shirts. The hangers squealed as he sorted through them and dismissed one garment after another. When he hit a particularly offending item, he threw it down to the floor, forming a steadily-growing discard pile.

“I’ll have you know Sean told me this was very groovy once,” Charles said, fishing up a brown fringed vest from the top of the pile.

“Was that before or after the Cuban missile crisis?” Erik asked, tossing another offending garment over his shoulder.

“Ha ha,” Charles said. “You know, you really don’t have much room to be critiquing anyone’s fashion.”

Erik scoffed and adjusted the edge of his asymmetrical cape. “Fashion fades, but _style_ is eternal.”


End file.
